


Entitled

by Egleriel



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Lady of Winterfell, Smut, name kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 12:51:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13236120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Egleriel/pseuds/Egleriel
Summary: It was one thing to meet one's admirer in an empty alcove off a hallway off a corridor, and quite another to draw the servants...Lady Sansa slips away from a feast at Winterfell. Smutty one-shot.





	Entitled

“Come for me, girl,” he hissed.

 

Sansa was dimly aware of his hardness against her thigh, just as she was only dimly aware of the weakness in her knees and ache between her shoulders where they pressed into the rough stone wall.

 

 _Rough, yes, but warm,_ she mused as her breaths quickened, _an island of warmth in the cold, and entirely at my command._

 

None of it mattered: not the rustle of servants in the main corridor beyond, nor the raucous sounds of feasting in the Great Hall just yards away. The White Walkers were beaten, Winterfell was hers for the foreseeable future, and the only thing in the world that mattered was the friction of calloused fingers against her core.

 

 _Gods._ She was desperate to cry out, even softly - anything to vent some of the tension building in her. But it was one thing to meet one's admirer in an empty alcove off a hallway off a corridor, and quite another to draw the servants with cries of passion.

 

“'Girl'?” she mocked, impressed by her own coherence even as she ground her hips against his hand.

 

“ _My lady_ , then,” he rasped sardonically.

 

Pleasure roiled in the depths of her stomach, those clever hands coaxing shudders from her limbs and a hitch in her breath.

 

“No, no,” she admonished, fighting down the ravenous gasps her body craved. “That won’t do at all. You ought to address me by my proper title, ser.”

 

The lips at her throat curled into a snarl, then appeared at her ear. His huge body pressed her harder against the stones.

 

“ _Not_ a _ser_ ,” he growled through gritted teeth. Sansa _felt_ the words hum through his chest, the heel of his hand kneading her mound where he’d trapped it between their hips. He punctuated his words with a bend of the fingers deep within, and it was all Sansa could do not to fall apart right then.

 

_Hold on keep going it’s worth the wait always worth the wait_

 

She slid her hands into his tunic, clutching at his waist with eager fingernails until he swore. 

 

“Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell, with a dog’s hand up her skirts - wetter than a Winter Town whore,” he sneered. He was better at keeping his cool than she was, but she felt his cock twitch as his own words. There was a certain urgency to the way his leg rubbed against hers. "If we keep this up, I'm going to end up fucking you against this wall."

 

"Is that so, my lord?"

 

He groaned softly, then shifted his position. His hand now pressed on her in a circular motion, while his fingers slid in and out in the rhythm demanded by the rock of her hips. Sansa stifled a whimper.

 

_Nearly there gods i'd probably let him gods gods gods so close_

 

"And if I _did_ , I'm not sure you'd want to deal with the consequences, _Lady Stark_."

 

"Nearly there," Sansa gasped.

 

"What was that?" he grinned, fingers moving enthusiastically.

 

“You nearly used my  _proper_ title. Say my name, if you would be so kind, my lord,” said Sansa innocently.

 

She batted her lashes at him like a debutante at her first ball, albeit with her knees knocking and her walls beginning to squeeze his long fingers in spite of her best efforts. Luckily for her, something in his stance softened then, and he leaned his sticky forehead against hers. His eyes, when they opened, had gone almost completely black and that was when she knew she had him.

 

With a twist of her head she slipped free and caught his earlobe between her teeth. On cue, his bad knee damn near buckled, and though he corrected his balance with the shocking agility that always thrilled her in the training yard, they both knew they could go no further.

 

“Lady Clegane,” he whispered. In almost perfect silence, Sansa let go.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Long minutes later, Sansa returned to the Great Hall, taking the seat next to her husband. His hand immediately engulfed hers while the other busied itself with a winecup.

 

“Care explaining all that back there?” asked Sandor, avoiding her eyes.

 

Sansa tried out a look that she hoped was a smirk. “All of...?”

 

“The… ‘Lady Clegane’ thing,” he mumbled into the depths of his goblet.

 

Sansa squeezed his hand and swept her eyes over the hall. An enormous direwolf padded between the tables, watched from the lord’s seat by little Rickon, the lord-in-waiting; on either side of Shaggydog, scenes of camaraderie and debauchery alike were playing out. There hadn’t been such light and life in the place since the feast for King Robert.

 

“You don’t expect all of these people to call me ‘little bird’, do you?”  Sandor glowered at that, and she felt a little guilty for the cheap shot.  “If everyone’s to call me Lady Clegane, then you need to get used to it, too.”

 

He swallowed hard, then pressed her hand softly in return. Sansa stretched all the way up to lay a chaste kiss on his right cheek.  

 

“And don’t think I didn’t notice your own partiality to certain titles,” she said quietly. Her free hand found his thigh for a caress that was hidden from view. “I’ll be sure to remember that later this evening, _my lord_ , when I return the favour.”

**Author's Note:**

> Gah! I did it! I wrote a smut. Hope it was okay!


End file.
